Under the Cypress Moon (43 page)

Within less than an hour, the truck came barreling back down the driveway.  With sixty dollars' worth of beer and nearly fifty dollars' worth of food, everyone in the truck figured that they had plenty for a happy and healthy night of good, cleansing ruckus.  Between the three men, everything was carried in only one trip to the backyard, T.L. carrying both cases of beer while Mark and Lou carried all of the bags of food.

As soon as Mark had his hands free, he informed his best friend, "You're cookin', T.!"

"Me?  Why me?  I'm the guest.  It's your house, Man.  You can cook."

"I'm gonna sit and have a beer and a smoke.  That's all I'm doin' for a while.  I've done enough lately."

"You guys shut up," Shylah snapped, having had enough of the quibbling.  "Jes sit your asses down, and drink.  I'm sure I can grill a few steaks."

"Better be more'n a few," T.L. chimed loudly.

"You know I mean.  Have a beer, and shut your mouth, both of you.  Sorry, Lou, that you have to hear this.  I don't know what's with these two, but I'm 'bout to go get the biggest wood spoon I can find in the house and do some thumpin'!"  Shylah's face exhibited enough seriousness that no one doubted her words.

"Watch out, Boys," Lou laughingly butted in.  "She's a pistol, that girl!  I think she's plum tellin' the truth!  Have a beer with ol' Lou afore ye get yer heads knocked!"

It filled Mark with a bit of self-loathing to know that he was leaving everything to Shylah.  He knew that she did not need stress of any kind and that it was not her place to have to cook for all of the men.  Normally, Mark would have no problem letting a woman do the cooking, but on this occasion, with invited guests that Shylah had not had a say in allowing, it seemed unfair for her to take on all of the burden.

Mark soon comforted himself with another beer and let the notion slip from his mind.  The second beer was soon followed by a third, and so on, until he had had five before the food was even ready.  He had not done much drinking for some time, excluding the night that the Kings and Birchums came over, and the downing so many drinks as quickly as they could pass down his throat and into his belly took a toll.  Mark felt wobbly as he tried to stand to find a tree behind which to relieve himself.  He thought that it could just be the dizziness that he so often felt lately but could not tell for sure.  He staggered to and fro, falling once before reaching the tree.  Lou and T.L. took immediate notice and fell into an uproar of general laughter and joke-making at Mark's expense.

"Why don't you two shut your mouths," Mark snapped angrily as he neared the table.

"Take a joke, Mark," T.L. encouraged.  "Ain't no harm meant."

"Ok," Mark assured, "but just wait til one of you has to go.  I'll laugh at you when you fall!"

"I won't fall is the thing.  I can handle my beer.  I drink it all the time!"  T.L.'s smiling and counter remark stirred more anger within Mark.

"Me, too," chimed Lou, holding up his bottle for all to see.

After several minutes of no one speaking, Lou broke the silence, delighted to hear someone talk, even if were only himself.  "Hey, you guys.  You know how you can tell if'n your wife is dead?"

"How," Shylah asked, laughing though fearing that the answer might be something offensive.

"The sex is pert much the same, but the dishes start to pile up!"

The joke landed hard on everyone but Mark.  Lou, T.L., and even Shylah began laughing hysterically.  Shylah, though slightly offended, found the humor in it and hoped that Mark would as well.  He seemed to need every bit of cheer that could be brought his way.

Mark sat largely silent while he and the others choked down their meal, not that the food was bad or unsatisfying, but Mark felt no desire to engage his friends in conversation.  So much swam in his mind, tormenting him, that he reached for another beer and another before T.L. finally grabbed his wrist and told him that he needed to slow down.

"Why?  It's my house.  I can have all I want!"

"Yeah," T.L. agreed, knowing that he was walking a dangerously thin line, "but we all care about you.  We don't need to see you shitfacin' yourself so quick.  Jes set yourself there, and wait a spell."

"You my mother," Mark snapped, pulling the beer away from the table and popping the top before any more could be said.

"Baby, he's right," Shylah announced, grabbing Mark's other wrist, hoping that he might, at least, listen to her prompting.

"You... you know what's real bad?  You know what's got me mad, what is a real kick in my ass," Mark asked, guzzling more than a third of his beer as Shylah pulled at his arm, soon after, rubbing it affectionately.

"What's that, Baby," Shylah asked, fearful of what it might be but knowing that Mark obviously needed to talk.  She was glad that her brother and Lou were there so that Mark would have a bigger group of people to vent his frustrations to, hoping that it would be a greater comfort.

"My old man.  mmmmm."  With another sip of beer, Mark continued, "My old man, he didn't even think I was his son til I was eleven!  My brother, Michael, he was the spittin' image of the man.  Nobody doubted he was my dad's son, but me, I ended up lookin' more like my mama than my daddy.  He thought my mama was cheatin' on him and didn't even wanna claim me for the longest time!  Here's to you, asshole!"  At that, Mark tipped his bottle over and poured out the remainder of its contents.  "I guess the laugh's on you!  Tomorrow, I get everything you left behind!"

"What do you mean, Man," T.L. asked, saddened for his friend.

"Stan Walker, Dad's lawyer, called me yesterday.  He heard about Dad passin' and says he wants to do the readin' of the will in the mornin'.  I find out how much I get, and it's gotta be a lot.  I know the old man had a fortune stashed away.  Hell, it may be a lot more than I'm thinkin!  So, there you go, you old bastard!  You didn't wanna claim me, and now, I'm gettin' all your money!"  Mark immediately reached for another beer, but this time, no one tried to stop him, seeing his sad and sorry state.  "I'm an orphan now.  Ain't that funny?  I'm in my twenties, and I already had to bury my mama, and now, my daddy!  I got no parents left!  You know what that's like, T.?  Of course, you don't!  You got both your parents!"

"Mark," Lou urged, "I know you was always real good with words.  You used to write lots of that poetry stuff back in school.  You still doin' that?  Maybe you could write somethin' 'bout your daddy and get some of them feelins off yer chest."

"I bet I could come up with one right now," Mark bragged, raising his bottle.

"Go ahead, Man," T.L. agreeably petitioned.

Mark stood but soon fell over the table, holding himself up by his hands on the tabletop.  "Ok.  Here I go.  Whether he be in Heaven above."  Mark paused to think of something to add, and after another pouring of beer onto the ground below him and a quick guzzle of what was left, he continued,

"Whether he be in Heaven above

Or in Hell below,

No man can know

No one will go

Until they be laid low

The heart,

Together or torn apart

Is all that can show,

But if he be in fact, in Hell below

I pray for his sake,

That t
here be snow."

"That was purdy and kinda funny," bellowed Lou, tipping his bottle toward his friend.

As Mark sat down and began to sob uncontrollably, he felt hands all over his back, both Shylah's and T.L.'s, both rubbing in a comforting manner, hoping that they might somehow alleviate their loved one's woes. 

"How about some music," Shylah quickly proposed.

"How come," Mark interrupted, barely raising his head, "How come, Lou, you don't go by Lou Joe anymore?"

"I got tired of it.  Everybody was always a callin' me Lou Joe Cujo.  I hated that.  I figure Lou is just as good or even better.  Nobody calls me names no more."

"Oh yeah.  That's right.  Remember that, T.?  We started that," Mark laughed.

"You two started that," Lou snapped.  "You know it took me til after high school to live that down?  I had to break a feller's jaw to get that to stop!  There was guys still a callin' me that fer a couple years after school was done.  I thought you two was my friends!"

"Sorry, Lou," Mark screamed, in tears. 

T.L. quickly added his own apology, begging for forgiveness, stating that it should all be chalked up to the stupidity of teenagers.

"Music," Shylah screamed in order to break up the bad atmosphere that had permeated what was supposed to be a happy and fun affair.  "Let's have music!  Music!  Now!  T., go get that stereo that's over there by the door.  There's an extension cord right next to it.  Hook it up, and bring it here, and bring that jack cord that's by it.  I'll hook my phone into it, and we'll have some music.  Everybody likes country, right?  Yeah, you do.  We'll play some country.  That's somethin' I know we can all agree on.  We'll play some music loud and have a good time!  Everybody's gonna cheer up.  I know it.  Go get the stuff, T., please."

Not wanting to anger his sister or make matters any worse, T.L. answered, "Yes, Ma'am!" 

"T., don't be a smartass," Shylah ordered, her face furrowing in displeasure.  "Not now!"

"I... I wasn't, Sis.  I'm not tryin' to make anything worse.  Be right back."

It was not long before Tim McGraw's "Down on the Farm" blared through the stereo speakers.  Mark perked up and began to finally enjoy himself, losing himself in the comforts of good company, though it didn't take much time until he had had several more beers and started to rest his head on his arms, against the top of the picnic table.  Shylah and T.L. knew that Mark had had enough, lifting Mark by his arms and supporting him on their shoulders, guiding him steadily into the house, though the feat was really something for Shylah, as she was considerably shorter than Mark. 

Lou said his goodbyes and tramped his way to his truck, shouting to Shylah to let Mark know he would be back in the morning to start work.  Shylah, quite puzzled, decided to let the matter go and went back to her task to getting Mark into bed.  This night would be the first that Mark would be unable to go to the cypress grove with the love of his life, but Shylah felt contented in the matter.  As long as Mark was safe and in better spirits, that was all that mattered.

Chapter 20

Mark awoke with a deep pounding in his head, though quickly remembering what he had done the night before, he felt himself a fool for it.  As he turned his head, he saw the awaiting and shining face of Shylah.

"Mornin', Baby!  You feel ok?"

With a grumble, Mark answered what little he felt able, "good... good as can be, I guess."

"Well, I made coffee.  What time is your appointment with the lawyer, Babe," Shylah asked, handing Mark a cigarette and a lighter.

"Not yet, Baby.  I need to go to the bathroom first.  Appointment's at ten.  What time is it now?"

"A little after nine, Sleepyhead!  You better get in the shower then.  I'm pretty much ready."  Shylah hurried to the kitchen and fixed Mark a cup of coffee before he could emerge from the bathroom to wonder where his partner was.

"Where are you, Shylah," Mark screamed at the top of his lungs.

"In here, the kitchen, Baby," Shylah shouted back as loudly.

As Mark entered, Shylah handed him his cup, which he happily accepted and downed in no time, not caring that it was scalding hot.
  After a cigarette and a half of another cup of coffee, Mark ran to the shower and took one of the quickest of all of the showers in his twenty-six years. 

As Mark finished dressing, he stepped back into the bathroom to find Shylah applying the last of her makeup. 

"Wow, Baby," Mark exclaimed, "Not only do you look damn good, but you're gonna be ready on time!  Oh, hey.  Where's T.?"

"He left before you got up.  He said he had stuff to do but that he hopes you're feelin' alright.  He said let him know if you wanna do somethin' tonight and let him know how the lawyer thing goes."  As Shylah coated herself with another application of mascara, she announced excitedly, "There!  Done!"

"Looks great, Beautiful," Mark approved, wrapping his arms around Shylah, leaning in for a long lasting kiss.  "Mmmmm," Mark added as he pulled away.  "So sweet!  You taste as good as a fresh peach!"

"Well, my sexy man, let's get our butts goin'!  We don't wanna be late.  We got about twenty minutes to get there."

"Oh," Mark broke out, "No worry there.  I'm sure Stan Walker can wait a bit.  My dad was his biggest client, and now that I'm gettin' everything, he won't put on too much airs about it."

"All the same," Shylah encouraged, "Let's get goin' anyway."

Mark and Shylah arrived at the front desk of Walker and Walker with seven minutes to spare.  To Mark's dismay and great dissatisfaction, he was kept waiting until nearly twenty after ten.

"Mark, good to see you," Stan announced as he offered his hand.

"Yeah, you, too, Mr. Walker, but I thought our appointment was at ten."  Mark, a bit reluctantly, accepted the offered hand and shook it profusely.

"Yes, it was, Mark, but I had a client on the phone and then another party on the phone on behalf of the client.  I couldn't end the meeting until all of the business at hand was concluded.  You understand, I'm sure.  Business is business, all the same in all fields, yours included.  I do apologize, however.  Please, if you would follow me into my office.  Is this your girlfriend," the attorney added, offering his hand now to Shylah.

"Yep," Shylah answered for Mark as she shook the man's hand.  "That would be me, guilty.  Oops."

"Law office, guilty.  That's funny.  She's a funny one, Mark.  I'm Stanley Walker III, Ma'am.  I see that Mark has excellent taste in women.  Please, if the two of you would care to join me in my office, we can get started and discuss all of the matters of your father's will.  After you,
milady."  Turning as he walked by the front desk, Stan requested that the receptionist get coffee for everyone.

Mark and Shylah quickly took their seats in front of Stan's desk, awaiting the coming news.  Stan sat and looked all around him before turning his head back to face the couple.  "Well," he began, pausing to tap his finger to his chin, "Well, well.  Mark Crady.  How have you been, Son?  How are you takin' all of this lately?  You know your father and I were good friends for many years.  If there is anything that I can do for you, just let me know.  We do have a lot of matters to discuss, but I am deeply concerned.  I know that it can't be easy losing both of your parents at such a young age.  The good news is that you have a financial windfall coming your way that I think will drop your jaw to the floor.  That being said, however."  Stan stopped to choke back the lump building in his throat and the tears that he felt coming.  He was not quite the stereotypical lawyer.  Though he was thought by many to be a cheat, he had feelings, true, human emotions that evinced once in a great while.  "However, Mark, I really do worry about you.  I want you to know that.  This isn't Stan Walker, the lawyer, talkin'.  This is Stan Walker, your father's close friend, talkin'.  Boy, I bet your daddy had a field day with you datin' a girl of color.  No offense meant to you, Ma'am.  I do not hold Thomas' proclivities for such feelings."

"He was ok with it actually, before his mind went all haywire at the end.  Believe it or not, he changed a lot in the final days," Mark recounted, filled with happy thoughts at the idea of it.

"That's... that's good.  Surprise but good.  Well, down to business, I guess, if you don't mind.  We could sit here all day and talk about your father, I'm sure, and I could tell you lots of stories that I would be willing to be my
nest egg that you don't know about, but that's not really here nor there.  Let's get down to brass tacks.  You stand to inherit a lot of money, Mark.  I hope you're ready for the responsibility.  We're talkin' a lot of money, enough money to make Ali Baba faint with glee.  You're gonna be richer than you know how to be.  The bad news is... well, I guess there's more than one piece of bad news, but the first bad news is that the estate will be held in probate for a while.  Do you know what probate means?"

"Isn't that where they hold onto your money for so long so all debts and possible lawsuits can be settled," Mark asked, his brow furrowed, quite unsure if he were correct in his knowledge of the matter.

"Yes.  Bingo, bango, boingo!  You got it, Boy.  That is exactly what that is.  The money has to be allowed to lay unclaimed for a number of months for such matters to be cleared up.  Now, so far, there is nothing there on that front to worry about.  Your father did not have any outstanding debts, at least nothing out of the ordinary or substantial, and there have been no lawsuits levied against him or against the company.  Now, with what happened to Cyrus Donovan and Tim Bedoe, there is still a chance that their families could sue the estate, well, the company really.  I know the offers you made to them, and that's great.  It should prove your best possible action you could have ever taken.  It seems unlikely that they will do anything, but be prepared, just in case.  As the manager of the plant and C.E.O. of the company, you're golden as far as the company goes.  You have full, untethered access to all company funds and all authority to make any decisions or changes, other than selling the company or taking on investors.  I'm sure that you are fully aware of the company charter, which states that the company cannot be broken up, sold off in any way, or take on investors, except under the most dire of circumstances that would necessitate such.  You can run the company any way you see fit, so long as you abide by the charter."

This news did not shock or surprise Mark in any way. He fully expected the business aspects of everything to go as they seemed to be.  "Now, what about the personal assets?"

"That's where it all gets kinda bad, Mark," Stan unwillingly attested.  "Therein is your problem, or, I should say, problems.  Your father had a hefty life insurance policy, which named you as the sole beneficiary with your brother and mother gone.  That, you will get soon and in full.  There shouldn't be any real hang-ups there, maybe a waiting period of a month or two, at most, but no real issues.  It was a ten million dollar policy.  He paid a lot of money over a lot of years into it and kept increasing the payout.  There is no probate law that will affect your receipt of those moneys, and you still have your trust, which will continue to pay you your monthly allotment, the same as you've been getting for the last few years.  But here is where it get tricky.  Not only will the bulk of the estate be tied up in probate for a while, but technically, with the house and property as part of the estate, you do not yet own any of it and won't until everything is settled.  You can continue to live there, so long as there are no claims against it or the entirety of the estate.  Ok, now, here is the big picture.  All in all, your trust and the life insurance excluded, you set to inherit an estate, including the plant, which was last valued at around one hundred seventy-eight million dollars, give or take a little.  That is without the recent damages to the plant, but there you have it."

"Holy shit!  A hundred and seventy-eight million dollars," Mark shouted, so loudly that the receptionist and the two people now waiting in the lounge could hear.

Shylah quickly smacked Mark across the arm hard enough to sting him.  "Mark, watch your language!"

"Sorry, but that is a hell of a lot of money!  You think I can hold back my surprise?"

Stan, now leaning over his desk, unsure of how to break the last piece of news to Mark, hesitated for a moment.  Pulling himself together and mustering all of his courage, he continued, "Ok, Mark.  Here is the last piece of news, and I don't know how ready you're gonna be for it.  I hate to have to be the one to tell you, and I wish I could've somehow told you this a long time ago.  I've know this for years, but your dad never wanted anybody to say anything."

"What?  What is it?  Tell me," Mark insisted.

"Your father didn't leave you all of the estate."  Scratching his ear, more, running his forefinger around the inside of his ear, Stan paused.  He could not go on, he was certain.

"What?  Why?  Why the he..."  Turning to look at Shylah, Mark continued, "heck would he not leave me everything?  I'm his only remaining child!"

"Well," Stan hesitatingly went on, "that's not true.  That is why you don't get everything.  It is true that you are his last and only remaining legitimate child and heir, but you see, there is another heir, an illegitimate daughter."

"What the?!  You mean I have a sister I never knew about, and this is how I'm findin' out about it?!  This is bullshit!"

"Mark," screamed Shylah.

"No.  No!  This IS bullshit!  I don't care!  I'm not about to worry about watchin' my language when I'm just now hearin' about a sister I have that I never met and who is about to get a big piece of my inheritance!"  Mark began to raise himself from his seat, readying himself to storm out of the office.

"Mark, please sit down," Stan urged, seconded by Shylah.

"Fine, but who the hell is this sister of mine, and where the hell is she?  Why have I never met her?!  I don't even know my own sister's name!"

"Her name is Sara, Sara Kenner.  She lives in Macon.  You never met her because, well, your father never wanted you to.  He didn't want you to know about what he had done.  He had an affair some years back with a waitress he met.  She had his child and moved away.  He was payin' her a monthly check for the past nineteen years.  She may be illegitimate, but your father left her a trust, which kicks in as soon as the estate is settled, plus a lump sum for all of the months missed from now until the end of probate.  I'm sorry, Mark."  Stan buried his face in  his hands.  It broke his heart that he had to inform Mark of his having a sister and of her receiving a large portion of the estate.

"How much we talkin' about," Mark demanded.

"Ten million dollars.  When the estate is settled, the entirety of the money gets paid into the trust, from which, Sara will receive a monthly check for the rest of her life.  For now, she will receive a check in the amount of two hundred fifty thousand dollars, payable immediately.  It was your father's wish.  He set all of this up.  He made sure that all of Sara's money would be guaranteed against any other claims.  Again, I am really sorry, Mark.  But look on the bright side.  With what is left from the estate and the life insurance and your trust, even after the damages to the plant, you're still inheriting an estate worth at least a hundred and fifty million dollars, probably more.  You're gonna be the richest man around here."  Stan let out a deep sigh of relief.  He knew that his duties had been performed faithfully. 

"Ok," Mark agreed, wanting the issue settled, "but how long should all of this take, and how do I get ahold of this mystery sister of mine?"

"It shouldn't take longer than a year.  I doubt it will take longer than six months.  Six months is the standard in most places, but it can sometimes be even less than that.  There's no telling for sure.  As far as your sister goes, you can't.  You can't contact her.  Your dad left strict and explicit instructions that you are not to have contact with Sara, and she is not to have contact with you.  I can't stop you from trying, but I can't give you her information.  All I can tell you is her name, and really, I'm not even supposed to mention her last name.  That part was a favor to you.  Now, here is a little bit of good news, and I hope it helps somehow.  Your father paid me a substantial retainer as both his personal attorney and that of the company.  There is a lot left that has already been paid, and it will far more than cover the rest of the settlement of the estate.  After that, I'll carry everything left  over to cover both you personally and the company.  It's all in one account, but you'll be covered for some time personally.  If you need any other legal work done whatsoever, I'm your guy."